


Fleet Footwork

by Oganesso



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oganesso/pseuds/Oganesso
Summary: Seraphine spontaneously auditions Ezreal and he eventually becomes a dancer for Seraphine. As he trains, conspicuous clues build up that a malefic spirit is going to come to Piltover soon, but his intentions are unknown. Roland, Seraphine's manager, reveals himself as a cog in a greater machine, EVOLE Operations, that has been resisting evil for timeless generations. EVOLE teaches Ezreal to contribute his skills to them, while the malefice makes its way to Piltover, and it is revealed that he seeks to seize something close to Seraphine. But its great heist doesn't quite work out - and it inadvertently becomes a superstar.
Relationships: Ezreal/Seraphine (League of Legends)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Fleet Footwork

"And I'd like to thank all my fans, and everyone who's come out today!! Especially,.. _you!_ "

"Woo! Seraphine!!" I say as I walk home after the encore. "Wow, she spoke directly to me in front of all those people! Still got it."

"Oh, Ezreal! Ezreal, is that you?"

"Huh?" I spin around to meet this enthusiastic voice.

"Ezreal! I just wanted to say, those were some cool dance moves!" Seraphine laughs.

"Oh, yeah. I got carried away a bit, haha," I gush.

"Would you like to join me for my next show? We could use someone like you."

My face betrays surprise and consideration. "I'll have to check my schedule. We'll get started tomorrow?"

"Of course, anything for the great Ezreal!" she responds.

* * *

Seraphine's manager (Roland, according to his nametag), and I, sit in the two chairs against the wall of the small, empty, white and neon blue room, waiting for her. Just waiting. 

"I got here a little early for the industry, don't ya think?" I chuckle, making light of how I had arrived five minutes late, yet still somehow too early for Seraphine to be here yet. I hold out my hand, ready to introduce myself. Roland keeps a straight face, reading over the note sheet of the next song, like he's presumably been doing for the past two hours. I can only guess. I try again to strike up communication: "Pretty chilly today, isn't it? Needed a jacket. And I hate jackets. Not my thing, you know?" A lie, but a desperate icebreaker. Roland stares straight on to the disconnected TV on the white nightstand in the opposite side of the room, and I'm left gazing at the grey hairs on his forehead as they move with the current of the room's warm air conditioning. _Snap out of it, Ezreal._

The door to the right and behind us creaks open, shedding a shard of light onto the half-dark room. She flicks on the remaining half of the ceiling lights. "Sera, you're here!" I say.

"Hello, Roland," Serpahine sings as she walks over to the now-lit big paper sheet they presumably write performance ideas in. She's wearing a grey hoodie with a colorful splash shape on the front and back. She hugs Roland. "And Ezreal! Glad you didn't forget about our deal." I hold my arms out expecting a hug for myself. It never comes.

"Now then, let's get down to business." She walks up in front of us to the small stage all along the left wall.

Seraphine asks Roland to start the music and we begin our audition. She asks me to join her on the stage so she can show me my first dance move. She bends over, then holds her left ankle in her right hand, raises her right leg and left arm to heights above her head, and spins, singing "Do, re, me, fa, sol, la, ti, do!". I'm transfixed. "Your turn!" she says. I take my ankle and try to raise my other leg, but it throws me off balance and I end up falling over before I can sing a single note.

"Just kidding! Your real dance moves will be taught to you by Schala, our dance instructor, starting tomorrow. We just wanted to assign you a fake appointment the day before, to make sure you wouldn't flake on us," she smiles. Roland abandons his facade and grins through his scraggly beard, telling me he's happy I'll be joining the three of them tomorrow. They both wave me out animatedly.

I can't tell if I feel embarrassed or indignant. I go home, wondering if Schala will be any less bizarre than them. Likely, if these two are the standard.

But I was wrong. So, very, wrong.

The next day, I enter the arts center and am told to go to studio room 34. I come in to a hoedown, with Roland and Seraphine ~~shaking~~ dancing wildly, and a middle-aged woman dancing alone, wearing a cowboy hat. The folk music is just some guy in a corner chair running his fingers up and down a banjo over and over again in a rhythmic pattern. I wonder why I decided to exit my house today.

Before I can turn around and escape my folly without anybody noticing me, the woman who was dancing alone a minute earlier walks up and introduces herself to me. "Ezreal? I'm Schala, your dance instructor for Seraphine's performances. Glad to meet you."

She seems pretty chill and straightforward, in contrast to some others here, so I ease my nerves and walk to a wall of the room for her to start the instruction. I still silently hope I can make an escape when no one's looking.

"Oh, no, Ezreal, we won't be training in here. Way too loud," Schala says. "We'll be heading just over to room 37 nextdoor." I thank her, as I don't know how else to express my gratitude, and my hand is taken to the private studio at room 37 where I'm immediately more comfortable with my own existence.

The room nextdoor is wide, brightly illuminated and echoey, with a mirror making up one entire wall. "We'll be doing private lessons here, Ezreal," Schala says. "We might as well get to know each other. So first, tell me - do you have a crush on Seraphine?"

"No," I answer, truthfully. "Hmm. Too bad, then. I was hoping to watch something form between you two." She looks up the lights and rocks back and forth on her heels and toes, expecting me to confess to something.

"Can we begin the lesson?" I say tensely.

"Yes, now, what are you waiting for? Start," Schala replies.

"Me? But you're the teacher here."

"That's where you're wrong. I'm your _instructor_. That means I tell you what to do, not necessarily tell you how to do it. Now dance!" she snaps.

I can't believe I thought this place would be normal.

I start spinning and pumping my arms up and down one after the other shortly before slumping my shoulders in defeat. "The first thing you have to remember in front of a crowd is to not be ashamed," she says. _Oh, she actually taught me something._ "Well, I'm sure _you_ would also be ashamed if you signed up for dance lessons and had to do this," I quip back, legitimately uncomfortable.

"Relax, I just needed to say that so I could get you dancing and see what I had to work with. You'll get better with time," she says, all smiles now. I make a mental note to never take anything anyone here says seriously. "So, Ezreal. Let's really get started, shall we?"

First, we stretch. I almost hate it. She forces me into all of these pretzel-like positions that nearly have me in smithereens. Then she has me try to copy her movements in a dance. She starts a playlist on her laptop. A funky electro-pop-like tune blasts the hall through the open door. I try to dance, but I'm immediately exhausted.

"This doesn't seem like it's the right approach," Schala says, ten minutes into practice. A ten-minute late observation. "Let's try a different approach," she adds. "I want you to follow my movements, slowly," Schala says, looking at me through the mirror. I stand behind her at the center of the floor. Using the mirror in front of me, I do as she wishes.

When our session ends, I limp out of the studio with serious muscle soreness in my soles. I'm called over by someone in a nearby room to clean up a burnt substance on the floor. As I leave the building, I'm told I'm appointed for next week.

\--

Slowly but surely, me and Schala continue our weekly lessons. Luckily, the floorboards in the hallway seem to have been fixed of whatever was plaguing them in that time. Eventually, I return to Seraphine's administration and start appearing in her shows more and more, with a more prominent position. And then, one day: I'm dancing right along beside her.

* * *

"Thank you! Thank you! Good night Zaun and Piltover!"

"What a show!" Roland adds behind me.

"As always; All thanks to Ez!" Seraphine cheers. She ruffles my hair as she heads to the fan-signing. I head over in the opposite direction to finish a bottle of water as a maintenance man takes Seraphine's stage over to its safe.

"Hey Ez!" a young female voice calls from the fan area. I look around to see who it is, until my eyes land on a short girl in an encompassing jacket, looking at me. I'm dumbfounded by how... short, she is.

"She wants your autograph," Seraphine shouts to me without lifting her eyes off of a drawing she's autographing. "Me?" I ask myself internally as I confidently (on the outside) stride to the fan.

"Ezreal and Seraphine. I can't believe I'm finally meeting both of you. Can I have your autograph?!" She reminds me of a typical crazed fan. Nothing to be worried about. Seraphine bumps me on my shoulder from the left, causing me to leave my inner daze. _Right, she's waiting for me to sign._

"You did great this show, Ezreal. I tried to listen to the music but my eyes were glued to you! Thank you for talking to me!" the short girl says.

"No problem. You know, I _am_ thinking of making it out on my own, but unfortunately I have to deal with my talent being weighed down by the presence of others," I say. Seraphine silently bumps me by the shoulder again, irritated. I take the pen from the girl's hand and sign my name under Seraphine's. "Thank you so much!" the girl says, shaking my arm in an intensely vigorous way. Her hand is really cold.

"Your first autograph session. Looks like _someone_ 's gained quite a few fans recently," Seraphine smirks, her eyes still on the table she's sitting at. I sense a hint of jealousy.

Once the autographs are done we return to the studio, as usual. Schala rides home early, since it's a weekend before a reverence day.

In the entrance of the studio building, the three of us are handed cards with small gifts attached by the desk attendant. "What are these?" I wonder out loud. I read my card's title text. " **For Ezreal** " That doesn't exactly clarify anything about the subject of the writing, so I continue reading aloud.

" 'Favorite food: __blank__. Favorite idol: __blank__. _Height: __blank__. Opinion of Ixaocan (1 - 10): __blank__. Number of toes: __blank__. What do you do when you run out of toilet paper? __blank__.'

And at the very bottom of the card is the least ludicrous question: 'What room did you audition in?' "

"You don't have to say ' __blank__ ' after every single question," Seraphine says after I'm done reading.

"I got totally different questions," Roland says. "Like ' _How many times do you privately -_ ' "

"--Interesting," I interject before he finishes the sentence.

"No gift for me, though," Roland says.

I notice that Seraphine does have a gift, though. "Hmm, so it's only me and Seraphine they're getting presents for. This is kind of stalkerish, don't you think?" I tell the desk clerk. "Who are these from?"

"And what is Ixtaocan?" Seraphine says. "And look at this question I got. Like I would share _that_!" she adds.

Unfavorably, the clerk only answers the middle of the three questions. "They're sent from someone named 'Master of Evil'." 

The room goes quiet for a few moments, and I see Roland make distressed eye contact with me for a split second but I pretend not to notice.

Seraphine stifles a chuckle at the pseudonym of the gift sender. " _Master of Evil_ "? Well, we clearly won't be answering these questions," Seraphine says. "Although, I _have_ always wanted a new pair of gloves. Oh - look, I can blast lasers from them!"

I open my respective present from our maleficent mystery man. A pair of socks.

With the day's work done, Seraphine heads out of the studio room. I start to head out a few seconds after her, when Roland unexpectedly grabs me by the collar of my sweater from the hallway and pulls me back into the room like an assassin before I can even ~~yell for help~~ _sense what's happening_.

"What the heck?"

"Ezreal, you may be wondering why I've requested your presence in this room at this moment." I stay silent. 

"You see, after your show today, me and Olivia noticed something conspicuous recently about one of your and Seraphine's fans. My research team - EVOLE Operations Field - has identified one of them to be _Veigar_."

"And.. uh.. how does that concern me?"

"Veigar is a menace! EVOLE has been tirelessly crossing swords this fiend since history can remember. He's trying to extract information from you."

'Since history can remember.' I'm more interested in this now. "So... you're saying you want me to fight him? Why does Seraphine or Schala not have to know about Olivia too?"

"To answer your first question: not fight, Ezreal. Dance. From day one, Ezreal, the day you looked at my balding head, that was the day I knew you were the one. At EVOLE, my job has always been to recruit loyal members who could improve the facility. You are the only one who can tread a measure in that signature way - the only one I've deemed able to help us in the inevitable clash against Veigar in Piltover. By this point, Veigar has gathered enough information to wage a besiege... and we don't know who - or what - evil forces he could be bringing along with him him."

At this point I don't know what I can possibly say that can change my fate. I do have one more question: 'Why is it called EVOLE?'

* * *

EVOLE's headquarters is deep in Zaun. There are apparently more EVOLE locations across Runeterra like this one. Roland tells me he doesn't know if there are actually more facility locations than this one, or if they just say there are, to make it seem like a bigger organization than it actually is.

I almost get lost down in the damp darkness before we find the place. I take it in and notice small groups of people coming in and out. It's a bit ironic: it's a large place that should be findable on any map, but it's shrouded by so much junk and tubular machinery and moss that you'd never figure it was there. After waiting for Roland to find a place to relieve himself, we enter the headquarters, where Olivia greets us. I don't think to ask how she knew we would be here.

"Welcome, Roland. And... -"

"Ezreal, the prodigious explorer," I gladly complete.

Olivia looks visibly disappointed that I was the one Roland chose to bring along. "Anyway, we're late for a meeting," Olivia says. She drags Roland inside a restricted hall and I'm left alone standing in the entrance, with the door we came through in now locked. So I start my self-tour of the facility.

I tread down an opposite lobby. The gray blue-green ceiling lights powered by chemtech and the exotic Zaunite plants potted and hanging on the ceiling really make for a comfy but chilly feeling. "Pretty interesting place," I admit to myself. At the end of the long tunnel I come up to a populated research laboratory with conjoined cubicles to the side for each scientist.

There seems to be some kind of study involving aquatics in this room, because inside of each of the cubicles is some kind of bowl of water, presumably with bacteria inside, and scratch paper on a ledge for each scientist. I see people using super fancy sinks and mirrors too, all along the other side of the wall, opposite to the cubicles. It all looks really techy and modern, and I can't resist peeking in some bowls and judging their impressiveness compared to the others, like I'm goldilocks. They smell a little bad though. I can't say for sure what it is about my behavior, but for some reason everybody starts gazing at me when I stick my head in to look. I move on to the next room.

Losing track of time peering into room to room, I'm reminded of an office building. I'm headed to the bustling cafe, which I assume will hold a restroom, when I'm stopped at the door. It's locked by keycard. And I need to pee. I wait there, considering my options, when a woman comes down the hall and begins to swipe her card at the door. She's tall and overtly attractive, with white flowing hair and blue eyes. Her face looks vaguely familiar to a fable I read in preschool that I don't remember the name of. I look to her chest to examine her further - obviously to see if she has any distinctive name tag I should be aware of (which she does: " **Chairwoman** ")- when I realize she's slightly levitating above the floor. At first deterred by this, I decide I have nothing to lose. "Uh-Hey, can you help me find the bathroom?" I ask. 

She turns to face me. There are a few moments of silence. I repeat: "Ehm, yes, hello, I would like to use the bathroom. Could you please tell me where one is?" More silence.

"Ezreal?" she says.

 _How does she know my name?_ Before I can ask, she involuntarily takes my hand into the cafe. With the rest of my body intact, of course.

After a bathroom break and our formal introductions, I inquire with her. We have a chat over the food. After some staring, I come to recognize her face as Janna. "So, tell me, how _does_ one come to meet a fabled wind spirit running an underground facility of ambiguous purpose?" I say.

She opens her mouth to dismiss the question, but changes her mind. "I met Barrett, the CEO of the place, EVOLE, at a tea shop. He invited me here to help him out. He chose me as his successor and here I am, headmistress of the place!"

Now, I don't doubt the headmistress part, but I remember Roland telling me Barrett's never runned this place, only worked here. What she told me here may or may not be her lying to me, which may or may not be because I look too intimidating for her to tell the truth. _It's okay. We can leave the cafeteria to talk in private so you don't have to lie. I'm always by your side,_ I say. Internally.

"So, how did you find this place?" Janna, the wind spirit, asks.

"I came here from Roland, who works with --" I cut myself off, because I'm not sure if Roland should be revealed as working as Seraphine's manager.

"Oh, I already know about Roland's escapades in the music industry of Piltover, working for Seraphine," Janna says, reading my face. "Anyway, Roland told me to expect you. I actually got a notice from him five minutes ago that he was looking for you, just before I found you! Lost in wonder exploring, I assume?"

"Yeah, a bit," I admit.

 _"Come, I'll take you to him,"_ she says, breathlessly. She takes my hand and guides me to the place where I'll spend the next four weeks. Four weeks dancing, practicing to beat Veigar, and four weeks of EVOLE's version of boot camp.

\--

"Take it from the top, Ez!" my EVOLE instructor, Barrett calls.

I rear my back to stretch, almost accidentally punching him. No, not accidentally. After fifteen seconds of relaxation, I'm immediately pressured again to keep up with Barrett.

"Let's go! Swiftly! Vigorously! Now! With motion! Start!" Barrett says. "Piltover won't defend itself!"

"And you're not helping it!" I retort. Way worse than Schala.

I won't document the repeated embarrassment experienced over this month, for my dignity and ability to be seen in public. But I've implied it here, out of respect for the integrity of this so-far omissionless documentation.

* * *

"Mmm, tacos," Roland says, taking his food from the line at the cafe. "You _do_ know no one knows where they get that meat from, right?" Janna says. Roland shrugs and goes to eat at the bar. Me and Janna are next in line. We sit with Roland. It's the first time Janna's joined us for lunch in a week, and my last day of training. "Have you heard of the latest hextech innovations, Janna? They're sure to improve the quality of Seraphine's mobility on her stage. Right, Ezreal?" he comments mid-taco.

Still, I haven't figured out what 'research' this place is even contributing to.

"Yes, I have." She pulls out a photograph of the academy's invention, taken in Piltover. "Wow," the barista nearby us says, eyeing the photo too. A sparse cluster of people in the cafe gather near us, aweing at the photo.

"Ezreal, your socks," Roland says.

"Huh?" I reach down to feel my socks when I realize they've left my shoes. I look around and realize that my socks have animated themselves, climbed up the bar, produced a camera and are recording the photograph. I knew I shouldn't have worn that gift.

Roland's eyes go into focus mode. He stares at his taco's crumply paper wrapping. I can see he's in deep thought, and his skin is sweating slightly.

"We have to go now," Roland exclaims, leaping out of his seat and heading straight to the conference room. Janna scoops up the photo and follows him. The crowd around me dissipates, and I silently admire Roland's appointedness. He seems capable of being the head officer of the place.

I sigh and slurp a drink. I'm left with the cameraman socks.

"Oh, Ezreal," Janna calls from the doorway she just left. Eyes in the cafe turn to her. She seems urgent. "Roland wants you at the faculty meeting, too." I urgently leave my seat tail Janna as we glide down the hall, making it to the door. I open it with Janna behind me.

Inside, Roland speaks with haste. "Veigar and his minions are in Piltover as we speak."

* * *

"Who are you?" the fan of Seraphine exclaims in fear.

"Silence! I'm tired of all you humans and your perceived free will!" I take hold of the new captive audience member and instruct my minions to tie him to one of the plaza seats.

"Please don't hurt me!" he shakes his head violently from side to side. His mouth is duct taped by one of my minions.

Good. Setting a nice example for our other viewers, whose mouths are also duct taped. Now I'm just a little closer to the culmination of my endeavor. Time for phase three.

I look over to my gratuitous seated crowd of loyal Piltoveran fans. Well, not _my_ fans. Seraphine's. But I've taken over the show now. "Thank you for coming here today." Hearing that my voice is a little creaky, I clear my throat and repeat the announcement. Someone in the crowd laughs in their seat. I command their mouth to be duct taped.

One of my inferior subordinates raises his hand and has the audacity to tell me the crowd of citizens had no choice but to come along today or be held in an unknown location indefinitely and that I shouldn't thank them for coming. I shush him before he alarms any nearby authorities.

"Anyway," I continue, "You may be wondering why I've gathered you all here today. Firstly, it has come to my attention that a certain _Roland_ has residence near here. I would like to locate him before I reveal my greater intentions. Does anyone know his whereabouts?"

I receive silence. "I said _Does anyone know where he is?_ " I wait for two moments before it is clear no one in the audience will reveal anything regarding Roland's current address.

My minion reveals his voice again. "Master Veigar, they may not be speaking up because they are too afraid of you. It would be kind to offer an incentive for giving information away."

Sigh. "That's it, I've had enough of you! Time for the grinder!"

"No, sir, not the grinder!"

"Yes, take him to the grinder, minions. Take him now!" I say, as five of his identicals tackle him in an elongated spectacle and drag him away somewhere.

" **Nooooooo!** " he yells, voice fading away to the distance behind me. I don't turn back to wave him goodbye.

"Anyway, where was I? _Who_ will give me the information I so desperately need?"

Someone in the crowd finally speaks up. "I heard he's in a secret location underground, but he has a spy here recording this whole event. Right now!" says a man looking suspiciously like an EVOLE spy.

Whatever, I'll take that. Assuming Roland is listening, somewhere, I start my monologue.

"Three years ago today, I came to Piltover to use the public bathroom, as usual. While I was in the process of being on the toilet, I heard sounds coming from this very plaza. Naturally, I peeked out to see, without letting anyone else see me, of course. I saw a smiling crowd, a tune humming above them, all circled around a central stage with an imprinted name. A long haired girl, singing the perfect hymn. Seraphine. But that's not all - I've visited these shows everyday since, hidden afar from the naked eye. There's something magical about those songs - that stage. Something depicting the unknown imminent. Something that made me stronger. What was my idea, then? I made it my mission to find this girl, and have her sing for me and only for me! No one else is worthy of hearing this. Jealous? Good! Mwahahaha!"

"You are very evil, master Veigar," one of my countless other dark apprentices annexes.

"I've taken over this show now! I have apparel spyware on Seraphine and her other horrible dancer, so I know where they are. Seraphine managed to get away this time because of her body guards, but guess what, Roland? I know _you_ know about her capabilities. And you're keeping it all to yourself! How selfish! What if the Piltover authorities knew about this? I'll tell you this: when I find the stage again, it will be over for you. And I _will_ find her, using **_this_** simple gadget! **Now, I will use this gadget to locate Seraphine's platform!** "

I reach into my back pocket to pull out the highly technological, groundbreaking appliance that I call... lint. Lint? There's supposed to be something else there.

"Minions? Where is my gadget?" I say.

"They're still making it, boss. He said 'give it a few more hours'," one of them says.

"I don't _have_ a few more hours. I need it now! The crowd is waiting!"

"Okay, boss. I'm calling him now," the apprentice says as he pulls out his radio system.

" _Yes, Dr. Heimerdinger here. How can I be of assistance?_ " a voice says on the other side of the transmission.

"This is Veigar's apprentice, `San. Veigar says he needs the gadget now."

"Right now? I told you it needed a few more days!"

"But I thought you said hours, doctor. Not days."

" _Days, Susan. I said days!_ " Heimerdinger refutes.

"Please don't call me by my full name in front of the audience," San responds.

I intervene and snatch the phone. " **Just give it to us now! We don't have time!** "

And just like that, a yard above me and Susan's heads, and following a spontaneous confetti explosion, the gadget materializes to fall into my hands.

" _Now, remember what I told you Veigar,_ " Heimerdinger says through the radio. " _You must not use this tool for evil-doings or there will be side ef--_ " his voice cuts off because I end the call.

"Now I will use this gadget to locate Seraphine's stage!" I say, finally.

Some beeps and boops on the small machine later, and it looks like the public performance is finally going to reach its climax. I reach to press the big red button on the gadget that will reveal Seraphine's. I don't know exactly how it'll work, but I know the man's inventions always do. I press the button.

My view starts spinning, and the world around me becomes dark and I can't see or feel or hear a thing. This must be extreme x-ray vision, as all I can see is darkness. Except for one faint glow in the corner of my eye. 

And, turning my head to face the distance behind me, I see an even brighter, shimmering, prismatic, ultimate shine. Maybe it's housed in some building miles behind me. "Yes! I've done it! I've found the stage!" I have just _one_ problem. How do I... get there? As my world is dark, I can't see, or feel, or hear, a thing. I could trip and injure myself!

"Stop right there, Veigar!" someone yells from presumably on the plaza border. It's so startling to me in contrast to the silence, it sounds like a nuclear blast around the words I can make out. And it sounds like someone familiar.

Roland.

"AAAAAHH!" he yells as he lunges at me.

"AAAAHH!" I react.

He charges at me, hands out and swinging, and I know I will only have a twentieth of a second to react, since that's when his fist first touches on my skin. By happenstance, I don't actually need to react this quickly, because he reaches too high, missing, knocking off my cap by hitting it right in the pointless spikes. By the hat being removed, the effects of the big button subside and I can once again observe the rest of my environment now, including the audience. But someone's been added to it.

"You damn yordles. Just as short as I remember," Roland says, recoiling his injured hand. He curses in frustration and calls for a bandage, as the captive audience gasps at the true sight of me, without my hat to disguise my face. Someone even calls their mom; and not just because Roland said damn.

"A yordle? I didn't come for this!" a woman in the audience says.

"Worst performance ever! Never coming to a Seraphine show again!" another man yells. Most of the audience agrees.

"Boo!"

The people in the audience start throwing their pocket trash at me and Roland in the center of the plaza as they boo us relentlessly. I can see important looking people rushing from the Piltover-Zaun elevator, likely authorities. I can see Roland shake his head. "Now it's all over, for both of us," he says.

And that's when it wasn't all over.

* * *

We rush in from the elevator to see that the show has already been hijacked and Roland is on the floor. Luckily, it looks like the authorities aren't here yet. We made it just in time.

Schala calls us to let us know that she made it to the studio and has retrieved the stage, and is on her way back now. Seraphine runs up to the central plaza and takes the mic.

"Thank you for coming to the intermission, everyone. So sorry for that brief pause in action. We have a new dance to show you!"

Schala comes in and sets the stage above the ground. I step up and stand on one side of it. Then Schala adds the new attachment she's been working on. It's an augment meant to make the stage wide enough for two people.

Seraphine smiles and points to Veigar, then to the stage I'm standing on half of, then to the audience. The music starts. "Ready?"

* * *

A yordle in Piltover? Like a fish in a barrel. No, like a fish out of water. By that I mean one odd thing in a group of other things that are similar to each other.

Luckily, no one besides me, Seraphine, Roland, and a few certain others truly know that Veigar's a yordle. We were able to convince everyone who was at the show that day that he was a human in a furry costume. Ratings were saved! And me? Well, they didn't need to find a way to keep me quiet, because I'm already trustworthy friends with everyone at the institution, being famous as I am.

"No, they didn't ask you to keep it a secret because they knew no one would believe you if you revealed it," Seraphine says.

All in all, a pretty good outcome. _And_ I've been putting my training at EVOLE to good use. Get this: Seraphine's audience couldn't get enough of me and Veigar's dancing and demanded he be in more shows.

Now you might ask yourself: _A yordle? How can you trust it?_

We can't really, and we don't exactly want him running around and causing mayhem. But we did some testing, and when Veigar's near Seraphine, we found out that he is unable to commit evil due to some strange aura. And evil's dangerous, Roland always tells me. So me and Seraphine had to be responsible young adults and take good care of our new little friend.

"Right, Gar-gar?" I say, baby-faced to Veigar, who is in the room with me and Seraphine.

He sighs.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me and talking to Veigar? _I'm right here next to you!_ " Seraphine interrupts. She gets up and leaves the room.

Oof. I follow her and Veigar out of the prep room after a few minutes. Our performance is in ten minutes. It's time to shine!

We stride into the limelight onto the stage as a duo. In the huge cheering crowd, we make out some familiar smiling faces: Roland, Schala, the woman who rudely greeted me at the entrance to EVOLE. The crowd's all there for both Seraphine and me, and Veigar.

And we do the show.

At the end of it, Seraphine takes the mic and gives her thanks for everyone coming out today, individually eyeing each of the scores of people with a smile.

"Veigar, Veigar, Veigar!" they chant.

I whisper to him to do the final signature dance. The audience won't ever leave the show without the closing jig.

He takes the mic with a hint of a smile, as a proud tear rolls down the face of his dance partner, and he does the signature dance.

Piltover and Zaun roar.


End file.
